Page 36 of Massimo

"Have you eaten enough? Do you still feel hungry?"

His concern—its presence and authenticity—make me want to cry. However, it also brings back to life the fire and fight that I try so hard to keep extinguished.

"Worried I'll starve and ruin your plans against my father?"

I snap my mouth shut, fear unfurling in my gut, and I try to smother that spark of fight. It's never happened so frequently or intensely with anyone before; I know better.

My breathing increases with the spike of my heart rate.

"There's my little hellcat. Show me your claws." His mouth curls at the corners.

Wait… What?

Hellcat? Claws?

He wants me to fight him?

I've heard of monsters like that—where the fight and chase are what they crave to hunt and destroy their prey.

"Please, don't do that, Nova."

Again, an order, but at least it's paired with a please.

Massimo has been lying on his side, propped up with his elbow, but he sits up now. His movement slows when I instinctively shrink back. His mouth firms, and I lower my head. I've displeased him.

And it's oddly disconcerting. Stressful, but not like it usually is when I displeased my father or anyone else in control of my small world.

The tray lifts from my legs as I keep my head downcast. The bed shifts, and my heart stops when Massimo's long, heavy leg comes over my thighs right above my knees. His other leg wedges behind me between my body and the headboard, and he shifts closer, so I'm sitting sideways in the V of his thighs.

"What are you doing?" I croak, braving it enough to look at him.

He doesn't answer. He leans forward to carefully take my hand that is closed into a tight fist. He gently opens it and rubs his thumb on the indented crescent moons my nails left on my palm.

Transfixed, I watch the movement. I feel the zaps of electricity from his touch and the heat spreading from where he touches me.

"My sister-in-law, Sophie," Massimo says, massaging my palm, "and my brother, Creed, are building a home called Hope's Legacy."

I have no idea why he's telling me this or his intention, but his rhythmic touch and the deep rumble of his voice have me under some spell. I feel like I'm falling headlong into a hypnotic trance.

"It will have various supports for the women and children who are escaping violence."

The spell is broken as I understand what he's trying to get at.

I try to pull my hand away, but he doesn't let me. It should trigger me, given he's huge, and he's pinning me with his legs. But instead of feeling triggered, I'm fighting between melting into him with a sob and wanting to slap his gorgeous face.

"I wasn't abused, Massimo," I lie with too much fire in my voice.

"It doesn't have to be physical for it to be abuse, Nova."

He's rarely readable, and the few times I’ve seen into the dark depths of his eyes, I saw rage and hate. The hate is gone now, and the rage has settled into anger. Instead of shrinking from his anger, I lean into it, feeling brave for some reason.

"I probably know that better than most people," I admit, the closest I've ever verbalized about the hell I've lived through.

His nostrils flare as his anger grows, and he visibly works to remain in control.

My learned instincts kick in, scolding me for my stupidity of deviating from my meek princess persona. When he cups my face and brings our foreheads together, I'm stunned and startled, but for some reason, I don't feel threatened.

"And I'll add that to my list of sins he owes me to collect," Massimo growls.

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